Temper
by Victoria Nope
Summary: Salem Charlaine King has a little problem...she has killed six people, but has no recollection of it. Nothing the good Dr. Jonathon Crane can't help her with, right?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Admission

Salem's mouth throbbed painfully, and when she reached her index finger up, she was surprised to see blood. She must have bitten it sometime during the jarring car ride to the large Arkham Asylum. Her heart beat at a tempo not unlike a rabbit's as the car stopped, and the double doors in front of her were opened by two men dressed in grey scrubs. They pulled her out roughly and half-restrained, half-dragged her up the steps and through the doors.

"You do know I have perfectly functioning legs, right?" she said, earning her a glare from the burly man on her left, whose name tag read Alex.

"Don't play innocent with us, ma'am. You know why we have to do this." he responded, gripping her arm a little tighter than necessary.

"And why is that, exactly...Alex?" Salem asked, still trying to get her legs underneath her.

"You killed six people, remember?" he snarled angrily. She laughed softly in respnse.

"People keep saying that, you know, but I have no idea what they're talking about." She muttered as the orderlies fell silent again, began to drag her up a flight of steps to a large door, which Alex unlocked and threw her inside unceremoniously. She picked herself up and gave them a bright smile.

"Thanks, fellas, but I can manage the rest by myself." she said sarcastically as they slammed the door shut.

"I'm sorry about the orderlies, Ms. King, but they are accustomed to more..._extreme_ personalities than yours, you see." a smooth voice reassured from behind her, and she whipped around to see a man there, leaning against the mahogany desk, arms crossed.

The man was tall and elegant in a tailored black suit that complimented his lean body. His eyes glowed prettily in the light, their color being what some would call _the _blue. His tie, dark green, constrasted against the bright, snowy whiteness of his shirt. His dark hair was gelled back away from his face and glasses, and he was smiling slightly, making him all the more attractive. He looked her over with his eyes, his brow furrowing in distaste.

"What happened there?" he asked, and it took Salem a minute to realize he meant her busted lip. She raised a hand to it and smiled.

"Bumpy car ride. You should really get the CrazyMobile wheels replaced, because I'm thinking they're a bit thin. Anyway, do you run this place?"

"Yes, I'm Dr. Crane, the psychiatrist overseeing your care while you reside here, Ms. King."

"Don't call me that, please. My name is Salem, so kindly refer to me as such." she retorted, still looking him up and down. He noticed and raised his eyebrows, smirking, making her avert her eyes in an effort to disguise the once-over.

"Of course, Ms., excuse me, I mean Salem. Shall we go to your room?" He asked, then gestured for her to go first. Dr. Crane followed her down the steps, but stood beside her while they walked down the hallway and into an elevator with beautifully carved wood doors. Silence overcame them both, unnerving Salem in the tiny, claustraphobic space. She took a few, small steps away from him, but his presence still seemed to overtake most of the elevator. She gave a silent sigh of relief when the doors opened, and they continued the small tour.

"I hope you know that we don't wish to harm you in any way, but we will use force if deemed necessary, Salem. I don't need to tell you that we expect you to behave here, do I?" She shook her headas they stopped in front of a steel door, which he unlocked and motioned for her to enter before him.

She took a few, cautious steps before checking the place out. There was a bed in one corner, stretching from grey padded wall to grey padded wall, with a blue blanket folded on top, and clean, grey sheets covering the mattress. Salem's shoulders sagged when she saw the walls. Since they were padded, that must mean she was a high priority here, so she wouldn't be able to have as much freedom as some of the others incarcirated.

A small opening in the wall showed her a small, lidless steel toilet and a steel sink with a small mirror bolted into the wall, most likley so she couldn't pry it off the wall and smash it to make a weapon.

She stood near the wall, feeling it hopefully for weakness, and discovered it was shiny and slick, most likley made out of flame-retardent fabric, which made her wonder…

"What's the point of this, doc?" she turned around to face him, arms crossed against her chest in a defensive posture.

Dr. Crane stepped into the room, an interested look on his face. "You really don't remember, do you?" Salem moved away from him. This guy was _seriously_ giving her a weird feeling, and not a good one, the kind of feeling you get after watching a horror movie when you feel like there's a killer around every corner.

He seemed to shake himself, then the friendly smile was back in place. "Never mind that, Salem. We'll discuss that tomorrow at your first therapy session." His grin seemed more like a shark's mouth, now, instead of the kindness she first thought of. The man, Alex, appeared behind Crane, and handed him a folded stack of clothes, not sparing a glance at Salem except for a chilling glare. "Thank you, Alex. You may leave now." Crane said, well more like demanded, as he turned around and gave the stack to her.

"Please change out of those clothes, and into these. They're regulation for all patients here." He stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him to give her privacy, thank God.

She stepped into the bathroom and changed as fast as she could into the blue tank top and grey scub bottoms, and knocked on the door to let him know she was finished. Crane unlocked it, and took the clothes from her, smiling as he did so, then moved to shut the door once more.

"I shall see you tomorrow, Salem. Sleep well." And with that, he was gone, leaving her only the empty little window space in the door so that people could see in. She peered through, and discovered a large, plain clock on the wall outside, which read 1:07 a.m.

She rubbed her eyes and sank onto the bed, feeling tired as hell from the little sleep she had had in the past few days. Salem slid under the sheets, which were surprisingly soft, and the comfy blanket. She closed her eyes, and was asleep in seconds.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Yes, I'm sorry for not uploading this sooner, but I had to deal with school and boyfriend troubles. Anyway, it's Crane's turn to have his thoughts exposed, and most of the chapters from his point of view will be short. Read and review!  
**

Crane sat in his large chair, in his large, dim office, reading over Salem's file with a vivid fascination. Who knew that this tall, black haired girl could have caused so much damage? The image made him smile to himself, as he stood, and flipped through the camera views of each patient in Arkham. Unknown to them, he had cameras hidden carefully in their rooms, showing all but the bathrooms. He wasn't a pervert.

He found the girl's room and wasn't surprised to find her asleep already. She had obviously tired herself out with the display she had done, killing all those people. Crane sat back down in his leather office chair and stared intently at the picture of her, posing with her art at a gallery. Her shoulder-length black hair was twisted into a braid, and she was smiling all the way to her sea foam green eyes, obviously very happy in her element. Well, she was driven far out of it here.

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing up its careful, gelled neatness, and loosened the knot on his tie, slipping it over his head as he did so, hanging it up on the coat rack next to his suit jacket. He turned back around and found his eyes drawn back to the screen that glowed unnaturally in the dim office. Salem's face had contorted into a look of panic, he saw, and she was twitching, as if trying to get away from whatever was haunting her mind. His blood ran hotter at the sight of near fear on her face, and he savored it like some would savor a good wine.

A small light near Salem's hand caught Crane's eye, and he moved closer to the T.V. and tried to make it out. It grew brighter…and it didn't take Crane long to figure out it was a flame at the end of her slim fingers. It danced prettily in the almost darkness of her room before growing larger and obscuring her hand with its orange light.

And, as quickly as it came, it vanished, leaving no trace on her porcelain-like skin. She gave a long sigh, and her face went back to its former deep sleep blankness. He stood there for a few minutes, the silence deafening him with its sudden appearance. He slowly became aware that his hands were in fists at his sides, and had turned white from how hard they were clenched.

He slowly uncurled them, grimacing at their stiffness, and stole another look at the girl. A slow, creeping smile appeared on Crane's face. He couldn't wait for another performance.

He returned back to his desk, reached underneath, and pulled out a simple but expensive briefcase, carefully placing it on his desk. The latches clicked open under hi hands, and he opened it, revealing the contents.

Crane fingered the mask within; it was as familiar to him as his own face. He checked the small gas mask, making sure it was still functional, and carefully went over the small containers of fear toxin. They were definitely important, and they were still all there, so he needn't worry about making more for the moment. His eyes closed as he ran a slender hand over the rough brown material interspersed with his neat black stitches.

He smiled coldly at the thought of wearing it again, then shook himself mentally and slipped the case back under his desk. He needed to keep his thoughts in order, no matter what his mind conjured up to entice him with.

Crane stood and crossed over to the large glass window directly behind his desk, and looked out onto the rest of the Narrows. This was _his_ place, and the arrival of one girl, no matter how attractive, would not change that. He saw the flame in his mind's eye, and shivered slightly in anticipation.

A loud, shrieking alarm came from above, accompanied by a cool female voice that jerked him out of his thoughts by saying, "Dr. Crane please report to patient transport. Level ten patient approaching, heavily dangerous, proceed with extreme caution. A small snarl crossed his face before it resumed it's mask-like professionalism.

There was only one man that could be here, at the most inconvenient of times. _**Joker. **_And he only showed up here when there was something he wanted.

...Or could it be..._someone_?

Crane slipped the jacket and tie back on, making himself seem more presentable as he mulled this over. Joker wouldn't just let himself be caught for someone like Salem, she would be of no use to him with her unstable condition...

Or was that what he wanted?


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Oh my fucking God! Another chapter! :D I'd apologize for not adding this chapter to this sooner, but what good would that do? Read and review!

Chapter Three: Dreams

It took a second for her groggy mind to remember what that angry, monstrous sound was called. Thunder, that's what it was. Another ugly explosion woke Salem up completely, and she opened her eyes to behold the ceiling that didn't belong to her apartment.

"Wha?" she mumbled, slightly incoherent.

"Seven sixteen. Get up if you want to eat." The voice belonged to her favorite orderly Alex, who was unlocking her door, looking like a creature from the backwoods of Arkansas. She remembered the events of the night before and felt her heart sink into somewhere around her stomach. She stumbled out of the bed and pulled on the slippers Alex thrust at her before following him through a maze of hallways and into a large cafeteria that could easily seat two or three hundred people. She got at the end of the lunch line, and waited, feeling the eyes of the entire room on her, even though they weren't. Salem grabbed a tray, and made a bee-line towards a table that had a small amount of people sitting at it.

She sat down next to a brown haired man who was talking nonstop. A petite girl was on the other side of the him, and she was completely silent and focused on her food, her hair covering most of her face.

The man turned to Salem and offered a bright smile.

"Salem King, our newest addition to the happy Arkham family. It is good to meet you." He held out his hand, and she tentatively shook it. "Edward Nigma, also known as-"

"The Riddler." Salem finished for him. "I've seen you on T.V."

"That you have, my dear." She gave him a nervous, half-smile.

"How is a raven like a writing desk?" she asked, and The Riddler beamed at her.

"Has anyone introduced you to Jervis yet? He would simply _love_ you. And the answer, my dear, is that Poe wrote on both."

"I don't get it." whispered the small female that had remained silent until this point.

"Edgar Allen Poe wrote _The Raven_, and he also wrote on desks, Jasper." he explained, a little condescendingly.

She noticed Edward and Jasper had on red pants, and short sleeved shirts with the words_ Arkham Asylum _written in white and blue on the back, unlike the blue she wore herself.

"What's with the red?" Salem asked, confused and still groggy. She felt slightly drugged.

"Blue means you're a new arrival, red means you're Level Seven or higher, orange means you're in Solitary, grey means you're Level Six or lower, and yellow…no one wants to be yellow."

"Why?"

"Rumors say that Crane experiments with them." he declared in a hushed tone. "He has a degree in psycho-pharmacology, and makes new drugs to cure the crazy people, be we all think he needs a little of it himself."

"Shut the hell up, Nigma. You scaring the little lamb." murmured Jasper. The Riddler scowled, and was about to retort when a small, nervous looking man also decked out in red sat down across from him, a wooden dummy nestled in his arms. The puppet was slightly scarred, and reminded her of how Al Capone looked, and a miniature Tommy gun would have been right at home in his stubby, wooden arms.

"Morning, Scarface. Arnold." The Riddler intoned, smiling again. The small man nodded at them, hesitating slightly when he noticed Salem sitting there.

"Open your goddamn trap for once dummy!" The puppet screeched, causing her and Arnold to flinch. Who the hell did they throw her in here with?

"There's no need to shout, Scarface. You're frightening our newest member." Nigma replied haughtily.

"I'd like to show her a member!"

"Mr. Scarface!" Arnold said, shocked.

"Well welcome to the loony bin, sweetheart. You can come see _me_ anytime." The doll winked at her. God her head hurt. Did she _really_ belong here? She wasn't crazy...was she?

"King! Dr. Crane wants to see you." Alex commanded, dragging her away from the table, making her leave the mostly uneaten tray behind.

"Have fun, babe!" Scarface called after her, and Salem really wondered if she would lose her mind here.

X X X X

Like the night before, she was thrown into the office, and barely managed to keep standing in the flimsy slippers they had given her. "Thanks for the date, Alex!" The door shut with a soft click, leaving her alone in the office with the doctor. She examined him, taking in the red tie he wore, the brown sweater and the suit. He was cool, composed, and smiling.

"Good morning, Salem. I trust you slept well?" She approached the desk and sat down warily in the overstuffed chair.

"Mostly. I..."

"Had some interesting dreams?" A nod from her. He leaned forward and switched on the tape recorder that lay between them. "Patient interview one. Patient's name is Salem King. She arrived at Arkham at twelve-forty a.m. after I talked to the D.A. and his associates, remained in the holding cells at the Gotham police station until then. Tell me, Salem. What happened in these dreams?"

She paused, thinking. "It's hard to remember, and kind of fuzzy. I'm in a house, maybe a warehouse, and...it's in flames. I'm screaming for my sister and I can't find her, and the smoke is choking me so I can't breathe. I'm calling for help, just for _someone_ to _help_." Her forehead furrowed as she strained to remember. "And...I'm terrified. I can't save anyone...and then I can't remember the rest." she finished, her hand rubbing her temples beneath the wave of black hair. She had the oddest feeling that the doctor was _enjoying_ her talk about her frightening dream, even though his face was sympathetic, but she waved it away, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"What was it that scared you? Was it the fire? Or was it that you couldn't get to your sister?"

"Neither. I just...I don't know how to describe it. Like..._I_ had somehow caused the fire." Her doctor nodded, looking thoughtful before turning off the recorder.

"I think that is enough for today, Salem. Nikita, one of our female orderlies, is outside waiting for you. She has fresh clothes and she will take you to the showers to clean up. Your room has also been changed to correspond with your Level. I hope you find it suitable for your needs."

She left his office, and still couldn't shake the feeling that something was very, _very_ wrong here.

X X X X

Nikita was a tall, leggy blond with a heavy Russian accent and a sweet smile that made Salem feel reassured that she was in good hands...for the time being. Her shower was warm, and felt so sinfully good that she never wanted to leave, but eventually she was told to finish up. Salem pulled on her underthings and quickly braided her hair, but stopped when she saw the clothes she had been given.

They were red.

She picked up the shirt and stroked it with her fingers, her head reeling.

_What the hell did I do?  
_


End file.
